One, Two, Three, Four, I Love You
by Flag118
Summary: Sage has always been an outcast. But is her luck about to change when she is adopted by the Cullen family? AU. Rated T for self harm references.
1. Chapter 1

Um, AH, the Cullen children are 15, I don't own anything except Sage, and I'm so bored of my homework :P

I had always been an outcast. Right from the beginning. I guess that's why I ended up in the system. But even for a Care Kid, I'd always stood out. I had never made friends easily, but that was just a side effect of OCD. A Care Home was the worst place to be, there is so much noise and mess. And all the kids knew how to wind me up, sometimes almost until I broke. The older kids aren't that bad, they assure me that families want the cute little kids, even though I am a teenager now. The doctors say I am mentally eleven years old, but they are lying. They don't know me at all. But I know no one will choose me, because they don't want a broken toy.

So that's why I didn't even look up when the staff announced that the Cullen family were visiting. I'd heard brief things about them. They lived in Forks, with lots of older adoptive children. I heard that they are also really wealthy. Everyone screamed with excitement, and I covered my ears and hummed. I get uncomfortable when the noise level is over at least nine people talking at the same time.

While everyone was getting ready, I was in my room, changing into some new clothes, because it was 12 o'clock. I am very good at personal hygiene, or rather the OCD is. I have two baths a day, one at 6 o'clock, and one at 7:15, which is 15 minutes from when I wake up. And I brush my teeth for two minutes twice a day, with 10 ml of mouth wash. And I wash my face three times a day, once after each shower, then once at 11:30.

I had just finished changing, when Shelby, the Head Care Worker, called from upstairs.

"Sage, come down stairs and meet the Cullens!" I didn't want to, but you have to follow adult authority until you are 18, so I did.

All the kids were downstairs. All the girls were wearing traditional dresses or at least their best clothes, with big plastic smiles all over their faces. The boys wore their football t-shirts. The Cullen family stared at me as I walked down the stairs. Two men, and three women. One man had blonde hair, and the other had brown hair, and they were both tall. The woman had blonde, dark brown and light caramel hair. The blonde and caramel one were tall, the dark brown haired one was short.

I stared back at them.

"Hello." The tall blonde man said, holding out his hand. I stared at it. It is the cultural convention to shake someone's hand when you first meet them, especially since he is waiting for me to. I had no idea how many germs were on his hand. Probably lots. I didn't want them to spread onto me. I reached for a clean tissue in my pocket, and put it over my hand while I shook his.

He smiled like he didn't mind.

They all introduced themselves as Carlisle, Edward, Rosalie, Esme and Alice. And then we all got sent into the living room so the adults could talk.

"They will never adopt you." Candy, a girl from the Home, sneered at me.

I looked at her. "I know."

The impact of her insult fell short.

I counted the stripes on the carpet.


	2. Chapter 2

"Which seat would you like to sit in?" I hate it when they patronise me. Why can't I just be normal? What went wrong?

I sat in the middle chair, and then straightened it out until it was exactly in the middle of the other two chairs. Shelby sat down on the right and Manny, the other care worker sat on the left. The Cullen's all sat on the other side of the desk.

"Sage. Do you know why I called you in here?" Manny asked.

"No."

"The Cullen's have taken a special interest in you." He said.

"Would you like to talk to them? Maybe take them to your room? Show them around?" Shelby's eyes glittered at the prospect of getting rid of me.

I looked at the Care Workers. I looked at the family. The staff looked unsure, but shut the door behind them.

"Hello." I said.

"Hello." They said.

Silence.

"I have OCD."

Carlisle smiled. "We know."

I was confused. If they knew about my condition, why would they _still _want me? As annoying as Candy is, she is pretty much a perfect daughter. So why did they want _me_? And not anyone else? There are twelve of us altogether. That is ten more options rather than me. And anyone out of any other Home they could choose. But no. The broken toy they want.

"Then you're an idiot." I told him.

He smiled again. "Maybe." He twiddled his fingers. "But idiots don't save lives."

"What?"

"I'm a doctor. And Esme is an interior designer."

I exhaled, and sounded more exasperated then I meant to. "They are very respectable jobs."

"They are. And I have a tenure position at the hospital, so we'll always be able to provide for you."

Something must have showed in my face, because Esme added "Okay, let's not get too serious."

"Why do you not want any of the other girls?" I questioned.

"We don't… _Take_ people like that." Edward said.

"Is everyone crazy here, or is it just me?" I asked, under the table I traced the shape of my scars.

"Plenty of people will adopt those children," Esme explained. "But we don't want them. We just want you."

I sighed.

"We take people that are most people would just overlook." Edward replied. "To be frank." He added.

I didn't care when people said stuff like that, what bothered me was when they thought I cared.

"Most families just want the babies are the toddlers. But we adopted all our children, and they were teenager, that everyone overlooked."

"But you don't know anything about me!" I yelled.

"That's why we're here, to get to know you." Rosalie said.

I kicked my chair over and it clattered too loudly on the floor. Everything seemed too loud.

I ran up to my room, wiping the tears from my eyes.

I just wanted to be normal. I could feel the OCD. I could feel it in my head. And it became stronger with every bad feeling. And I couldn't stop it. I couldn't even if I tried. I needed some antidote. And I didn't even need to think twice. I grabbed the blood stained razor from my draw. I took them from pencil sharpeners. People are stupid; they should really make it harder. I pressed the razor to my wrist, and slashed it across quickly. Pain welled up inside my brain, but I didn't mind it. I liked it. It was my antidote, to all the bad. A distraction.

But it ended too soon. And I didn't feel enough. I slit again, across the first, to make a cross shape. It stung, and my instinct was to hold my arm. But I watched as blood seeped up to the wound, but never overflowing. I watched it, and poked it, and squeezed out more blood, until I started to feel dizzy. I laid down on my bed. This was always the way. OCD, razor, cut, sleep. Every day.


End file.
